Luck
by TellAllYourFriends
Summary: [ONESHOT] I guess this is where the luck comes in with this game of chance, we call life.


I remember the day you got the letter. I remember the shock on your face. I remember the reluctance you showed as every day came closer to the day you had to leave. I remember how you looked the day before you left. You looked so tall and handsome, standing up straight, beaming at me. I won't ever forget that. That was the Ron I knew. That was the Ron I loved.

I remember the day I found out about the one thing I never told you. You hadn't left yet, and I didn't want to stress you out before you left when you found out you'd become a father. I regret not telling you now. I regret not letting you know, you'd have a child. I regret it all so much. I remember the last kiss you gave me. You bent down to give me a quick peck on the cheek before you walked out the door.

I tried not to cry, the day you left. I tried to keep my head high, and be strong, but in fact, I couldn't. As I watched you leave, the tears poured down my face.

It's hard to watch the one you love walk out on you into a world of luck. If you had the luck, you'd live, if you didn't, you didn't. I remember hoping you had luck. I remember hoping you'd be all right. I remember hoping that one day I'd see you come back through that door.

I know I was being selfish, but I didn't care. Why couldn't they have sent someone else? Why did you have to be the one to go? But I guess that's the thing with luck. You have it or you don't. 

I remember when our son was born. He had your fiery red hair. He was the spitting image of you. It's almost amazing how to people can look so much alike. I remember little Ronnie's first birthday. He could almost walk all by himself. He was so cute with his little party hat on sitting in front of his cake. I couldn't help but cry, wishing you were here.

I figured you were off in the mountains some where looking for you-know-who. I dreamt that you'd be the one to find him. I imagined you'd become the hero and you'd come home and we could live happily again. I hoped you were ok.

At two and a half Ronnie could talk. "Cannons" was his first words, as I know they are your favorite Quidditch team. Like father like son, I guess. I taught him please and thank you. He was the politest three years old you could probably ever meet.

You didn't write me. Although, I wish you had, I figured you were probably on the move too much and had no time. Maybe you weren't allowed to write, for the message could be intercepted. I didn't know.

At five, Ronnie asked me where his father was. I told him you were out fighting the bad guys and you'd come home soon. I told him that for a year or two until I found out.

They came to my door on April 2nd. I answered it surprised by who was there. I almost screamed when they told me. It couldn't have been true. You couldn't have been gone. They told me you died with honor, and they returned your belongings to me. I sent Ronnie to my parent's house for a couple days and addressed the letters to your family. It was unbelievably hard to write them. I couldn't do it for days. I thought if it was in writing it would be permanent. I kept dreaming you'd walk through the door and Ronnie would run to you and you'd pick him up and kiss him like you had been there since the beginning. I wrote one copy and recopied it to send to all your brothers and sister. It was probably one of the hardest things I had to do.

I missed you, Ron. I couldn't deal with the pain. It was all too much. I couldn't believe that you were gone. I wouldn't believe it. I couldn't have your body for a proper burial. They told me you were captured by the enemy, and this is where it hurts the most. They told me you were a prisoner for seven days. They told me that when they finally got you back, you were barely alive. That there was no chance for you to live. They burned you that day with three others.

Why did they have to take you? You were a good honorable man. You had a family; you had a wife, a son. I just don't understand why they would want you. Couldn't they have taken someone who didn't have a family? You never did anything wrong. Why did you have to be tortured until your end? I think that is the most painful thing of our story, Ron. You were good man, but you went through so much pain, when you didn't have to feel any of it. I guess this is where the luck comes in, Ron. I'm sorry to say, but I don't think we have much of it.

They told me you died with honor because you had helped someone escape. They told me you had saved him and went through the pain, sparing him. I remember when that man came to our house. I didn't greet him with a hand shake, I hugged him. He wasn't just some stranger who had fought beside you. He was a friend. You saved his life. You let him go, instead of being selfish and using that chance for yourself. He told me he was the one who found you. He gave you a note to give to me. I saved it to read until after he left.

It pains me to read it, Ron. I can barely even look at it. Three days later I worked up the courage to. I want you to know you were a great man and I loved you very much. Even little Ronnie loved you with all his little heart. I tell him stories of you. He listens with great interest, eager to know what his father was like.

It's hard for me to believe you're gone. It's hard for me to believe you're never coming back. It's hard for me to believe you never met your son. It's hard for me to believe you left at only 25.

They burned you that one night, with three others. They gave me an urn with the ashes. It sat untouched, unlooked at for weeks and weeks. After two years of it staring back at me, I decided to pack up your things and move them to the attic. It was hard, and I think that was when I finally accepted the fact that you'd never be back. That was when I accepted it.

Sometimes, I really regret it. Not telling you about little Ronnie. Sometimes I think of how selfish I was, not telling you. Maybe if I had told you it would have changed things. I wasn't sure. I see you in my mind shaking your head at me and telling me it all worked out for the best. Maybe it did, Ron. Or maybe it will.

I guess this is where the luck comes in with this game of chance, we call life.


End file.
